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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26191303">Mountain Keep: The Miscellany Book of Hestocánë of Inforn Tir</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoriath/pseuds/Anoriath'>Anoriath</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/lferion'>lferion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angband, Art, Beleriand, Canon-Typical Violence, Diary/Journal, Elf Culture &amp; Customs, First Age, Gen, Inspired by Art, Mountains, Poetry, TRSB2020, The Ainur - Freeform, Towers and Fortresses, Watching, Worldbuilding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:09:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,759</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26191303</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoriath/pseuds/Anoriath, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/lferion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Pages from the Miscellany Book of the captain of the northernmost watchtower/mountain keep in Beleriand.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mountain Keep: The Miscellany Book of Hestocánë of Inforn Tir</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoriath/gifts">Anoriath</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Many, many thanks to Anoriath for the amazing paper sculpture art, as well as encouragement and useful input. I hope this pleases.</p><p>Many many thanks also to Morgynleri and Runa (bardcoyote) and all the crew at Write Every Day and the SWG discord, for encouragement, sanity checking, and virtual hugs.</p><p>Notes on names and sources at the end.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>
      <strong>Type</strong>
    </em>
  </p>
</div><em>
  <br/>
</em><p>
  <em>It was a Type, a pattern, a Form from which it seemed any, all Fortresses might be struck, a model embodying the source concept, containing the essence, of what a mountain keep was, had been, could and would be. It stood on a plinth of dark stone, with the shadows of mountains behind and curling around the translucent layers of walls and battlements, arcaded halls and upward-reaching towers, carved or grown or Sung into shape out of fine-grained pale stone, thin as paper, yet standing firm, rooted in the very structure of the rock that was foundation and defense both.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>One of the unexpected gems of Aule's halls; it had been Made by Ampanotalëamo, one of Aule's maiar, after the Awakening of the Children, and sadly, after the need for such construction was proven necessary. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Near the Type was a book, handwritten, assembled of different paper, ink, scripts, hands, languages. There were sketches, bits of verse, lists and inventories, tales and recipes for mortar and whitewash and bee-sting remedies. A Miscellany Book, with glimpses, connections, to many of the Keeps for which the Type was the root.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Namo had consulted with Ampanotalëamo as well as Aule, on the building of His Halls, when the World had reached a state of readiness for the Children, and Melkor had become Morgoth.Those great structures were only partly in the world at all, but were also most definitely a fortress, a keep, firmly situated in mountains, however liminal.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was in working with Namo, who had been given insight into the shape of the Children's fëa, if not full understanding, that Ampanotalëamo began to contemplate what a structure for physically living in mountains, body and spirit, both alive and needful of staying so, would entail. And after sundry sketches, models, patterns and even a full-scale construction, built with the interested assistance of Aule and many of his fellow maiar, (a number of whom looked to other Valar, and carried the idea of purpose-built halls back to their own dwelling places), the living Type emerged. Not a static, fixed, unchanging ideal, but one that could flex with changing conditions, new materials, unexpected demands. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Varda Herself set the light in the top-most tower, for hope.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>Sing, O Well-Shaped Stones</strong>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Is it not the stone's desire<br/>
To be builded up, piled high<br/>
By the mason's Art in shapes<br/>
Designed, laid out, ordained<br/>
In wall and window, parapet<br/>
Towers high and cellars low<br/>
Hall and chamber, pillar, arch,<br/>
All made sturdy to defend<br/>
The lives, the loves, the children<br/>
Of the Eldar and of Edain</p>
  <p>Sing, o well-shaped stones, of strength<br/>
Of Valor high, and courage<br/>
To stand fast against the foe<br/>
Be it flame or shadow-spawn<br/>
Marching host or pestilence<br/>
From mountain root to summit,<br/>
With stout timber, iron, glass<br/>
All combined to make a Song<br/>
A Shape of home, hearth-heated<br/>
And safe from every storm<br/>
</p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p>
  </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>
      <strong>Not Abandoned in Exile</strong>
    </em>
  </p>
</div><em>
  <br/>
</em><p>
  <em>That Ulmo loved all the lands and peoples that His waters touched (Endore and Aman and more distant lands alike) is known -- sung, acknowledged, understood (inasmuch as the motivations and emotions of one of the Ainur can be understood). But He was not the only one. Manwe's airs and Varda's stars enveloped Arda in entirety, not Aman alone, and Yavanna's, Aule's efforts likewise. The dead of every land was called to Mandos, Vaire wove the works and deeds of far and near, small and great, and dreams, healing, mercy and compassion know no bounds. But for most who dwelt within the fence of the Pelori, they did not venture personally outside that demarkation. Yet there were those that did, drawn to the Children, who would not just watch, record, take measure, stand aloof, but, like Ulmo, Osse, Uinen and more, bend thought and will and Song to work with, among, beside the Eldar and Edain, bring aid and comfort, and stand with them against the Foe who once had joyous sung creative counterpoint and harmony, and now wrought only woe.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ampanotalëamo was such a one. When the Noldor went into Exile, they followed. Not embodied as a person, but spread out, partitioned, tucked into notes, plans, tools, books, favored stones in people's pockets. On the ships and across the Ice, motes and notes and knowledge.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>Inforn Dîn - High North Pass</strong>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>The great anchor-point fortresses have been built - built enough to inhabit, defend, scout and sortie out from: Barad Eithel, Himring, Rerir in the East and Vinyamar in the West, guarding the coast as well as the landward passes and approaches. Finished is a nonsense word applied to a major defensive structure, but functional will do. Will have to do. So now it is time to give some attention to more minor passes, to filling in the gaps between the tower-keeps held by princes, to building less elaborate, more compact structures lead by lords and not kings, defended with arrows and pikes and not so many swords from the hands of legendary smiths, but serviceable and practical and easier to make. And because the legendary smiths are also practical, they have been generous with their knowledge, and so have taught even the kitchen-smiths and pot-menders the songs and skills to let the metal sense the discord of the Enemy, and shine in warning and defense.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div><p>We found our site today, just after sunrise. (The Sun is still a surprise to me, even though it has been long enough now that counting in Sun years is easier than in Tree years. The seasons -- so distinct! -- Help with that of course.) We had followed the river that flows into Lake Mithrim from the North first up into the hills and then into the mountains proper, the northern Ered Wethrin, seeking the springs from which it flowed, and to judge if there was a pass sufficient to allow a force of the Enemy to come through, and not just a hardy scout or two. There is a pass, not easy, but not impossible either, and the stone spoke to me, the trees and shrubs to Laurelisse. We may end up the most northerly watchtower, though I think it will eventually be worthwhile to build at least outposts and beacon-towers further yet. The great vale between the Wethrin and the Engrin would be better watched than not.</p><p>But for this Tower-keep, the land is well situated, and welcomes us. There are Elves in these mountains as well, though not many, and very wary, as one might expect. I hope they too will welcome us. </p><p>The pass this keep is to defend is not large, nor particularly easy to get to, from either side, but the Enemy has never let difficult get in his way. The watercourse that arises from the spring and watershed of the long valley is not a large one, though it eventually gains strength and joins with a river that eventually flows into the Sirion. Even the Enemy and his minions need water, and are not loth to poison or foul waters they can not control, so this location will allow us to guard that source as well. The boulder-strewn slope above the pass shelves nicely, and will terrace with (relative) ease, for gardens, livestock, outbuildings. </p><p>The wildflower fields are busy with bees. I remember a riddle I once heard.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Flowers feed me       Reaving seed I flee<br/>
On woven winds       with fretted wings<br/>
To guarded gates       Of molded gold<br/>
Where warriors wait       With spears and whetted edges<br/>
Dauntless to defend       Our sweet welling dwelling-place<br/>
And Obeisance bring       Before our busy Queen</p>
</div><p>The bees seem happy to see us.</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>Inforn Tir - Watchtower of the High North</strong>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>We have sung the survey, assayed the stone supplies, the mineral deposits, the paths the water rises and runs in. The bounds are marked and the key- and corner-stones shaped and placed. The trees have been bespoken, and some have clustered themselves into a grove a little down the Western slope, while others have dotted themselves about the pass, watchers and guardians. A few have chosen to root themselves in what will be the courtyard once more of the stones have been set.</p><p>We, Noldor and Sindar, master crafters and learners and those of us trying to stay on top of everything all still living in tents. Many of them, particularly the Sindar who joined us recently and are watching this novel mode of construction with great interest, favor trees or hollows for their bedrolls and personal places. The Noldor all choose to be within the outer bound if not the inner, and most of the Sindar stay close, if not all within. They are all well aware of the louring presence of the Enemy's fortress, and how few our numbers are. </p><p>Something tells me we are not being over-cautious.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>Our caution was rewarded.<p>They came on us in the darkest part of the night, creeping up the valleys, a sortie of the small, fast most mis-shapen yrch, the ones that seem more like a compound of dog and locust, if such a thing could even be contemplated, much less brought into being (Laurelisse, who was of the Yavannildi for a time, says my guess is not far off, and that it is the abomination that it seems that they should exist at all). But worse than the scuttling things were the hand of undead that came up behind them. </p><p>The creatures avoided the trees, and our companions in them, even when arrows and stones found unerring and effective mark, and fortunately for them, the undead were focussed on the keep itself. I think they were trying to destroy it (and us) before we could bring it to active defense and strength. They had waited too long for that. I was not at all sure that we had yet done enough, had engaged enough of the stone, the water, the land, on which we built, but with the thin line of us warriors to the fore, and all the crafters within the surveyed bounds and Singing, the walls we planned rose up like crystal, limned in light, and the tormented dead could not pass through.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>Building Song</strong>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Sing the song of stone,<br/>
As set we stone aright<br/>
Sing we ne'er alone<br/>
As build we strong in light</p>
  <p>Sing the song of steel<br/>
Of iron black and bright<br/>
Sing and turn the wheel<br/>
We build upon the hight</p>
  <p>Sing the song of Oak<br/>
As work we wood so white<br/>
Sing the mist like smoke<br/>
We build concealed from sight</p>
  <p>Sing the song of wells<br/>
Stepped and delved forthright<br/>
Sing water up the fells<br/>
We build no arid plight</p>
  <p>Sing the song of ward<br/>
For safety in the fight<br/>
Sing the shield and sword<br/>
We build our Keep tonight</p>
  <p>Oh stone beneath, and stone around,<br/>
foundation make, and walls surround<br/>
Place and purpose, strength here bound<br/>
Fortress rise, with tower crowned<br/>
Keen perception, sight and sound<br/>
In partnership with air and ground</p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p>
  </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>
      <strong>Seeing Stones</strong>
    </em>
  </p>
</div><em>
  <br/>
</em><p>
  <em>The Palantiri work best when elevated, set high in a tower, in a space open to the air (or able to be made so -- windows that could be closed against inclement weather, defended from the arrows and and other machinations of the Enemy), and generally un-fussy, un-elaborate or distracting, and out of the way of the casual passer-by. Not locked away or hidden, no; made available to any with need, but requiring of those with need a degree of focus and intention. They were not trivial to use.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Lords Curufin and Celebrimbor both knew the making of them, -- which is partly how Numenor came to have at least seven to return to Eriador with -- and did not stint of that knowledge, though few were able to put that knowledge to practical use.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(And it was generally understood among a small number of people that they could be made to explode, though that required a Feanorian to achieve.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Turgon had one in Vinyamar, but he did not take it with him to Gondolin. Or if he did, it was never used. There may have been lesser Stones for use within the vale, but no seeing-stone of any sort was taken by the Enemy in the destruction of that City.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>The High King</strong>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>I will not panic. I will not panic. I will <em>not</em>. Ridiculous to be more worried about an official visit from High King Fingolfin and Prince Fingon than about a possible incursion of yrch, but I am. Even though I know we are in good order, that the guest rooms are well appointed (and even if they weren't, this is the northern-most watchtower, the last and the smallest. They know that. They crossed the Ice the same as I, will not have forgotten the exigencies of distance and supply lines.) I do not know why I am so wound up about this, just that I am. I suppose I can put a couple extra people on watch-duty, and make sure all the animals are brought in. Legoel will surely think I am over-reacting, but that is nothing new.</p><p>Well, the Stone shows their pennants cresting the southern-most shoulder of Greenrock ridge. They will be here by late afternoon. I shall close this and no doubt make a nuisance of myself in the hall. I think I will wear armor. Even if it isn't necessary, it will give a good appearance. I will at least look the part my mother named me. </p><p>(Our Stone is tiny, fitting in a cupped palm, one of a double-dozen travel-stones distributed among the watchtowers-lesser. It goes in a pouch, or even a pocket at need. It is very useful.)</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div><p>Both. I should have been worried about both, not one or the other. But, Lorinen's eldest did very well spotting the movement two ridges over, and everyone was safe inside the gates (including Durolas's sheep and all the flit-foxen that the youngsters are so fond of. The ravens can take care of themselves.) before they got there. And now I have seen both the High King and the Prince fight, very effectively too. Also heal, though fortunately the injuries were all minor.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div><p>The High King is to take the West road over the ridge at the Tower's back on the morrow, continuing His progress through the lands of Hithlum. I expect He will find them in good order. Prince Fingon is to stay some time more. I think he wants to be certain the skirmish that greeted their arrival is not a vanguard to a larger attack. I do not believe it to be, but I am in perfect agreement that more information in the event is far better than too little. He has also authorized the construction of a new outer wall, encompassing more area, the whole of the pass, so that one must go through the fortress to get to the other side. I am in full agreement with this idea, and quite intrigued with his further suggestion that I consult with the Feanorians, particularly Prince Maedhros and Prince Caranthir about engaging Dwarves in the project. That shall certainly be an adventure.</p><p>Prince Fingon is, well, not less intimidating than his father, exactly. The High King is very much a king in the sense of it being part of who he is and not just a vast part of what he does. Fingon, most definitely a Lord, a Prince, cast not in precisely the same mold as his father. Which is a strength, I think, though I am not certain he necessarily thinks so. He is a natural leader, but more in the captain sense than the King sense. (I do not know if I am even making sense here, so it is a good thing this is my book, meant only for my thoughts and notes, and not some kind of official log-book. I would never put any of this there. Indeed, I hope I have not been too expressive? Expansive? Not sure quite what I mean -- in the official log book. Much too late to worry about that now.) </p><p>Fingon. I saw very little of him on the Ice, though I never understood the anger some of our people held against him. If I had been there on the docks, I am certain I too would have bloodied my sword. Not a thing I am particularly proud of, and I am grateful that I was not at the head of the long and disorganized train of us. He was more a symbol to me than a person. Now I have some better acquaintance of him as a person, I think I, well, his father is High King, and I believe Fingolfin wise, thoughtful, and as well-informed and careful in judgement and law and matters of alliance and war as one can be, here in Beleriand, and I will follow him as king for those reasons and more, Fingon I would follow for the heart of it, and my fealty is his for the asking. Possibly without the asking. </p><p>It is said that we Elves choose our Lords, and that is largely true. But sometimes it is not choice, but recognition. I recognized this slope in this pass as the Place this Tower-keep should be, and here it is. Fingon is a different kind of keep (to belabor the language) but the recognition feels the same. And I suppose it does not diminish the connection that he understands the trial of having 'valor' as well as 'commander' or 'captain' as name parts. </p><p>And that is more than enough maundering about on that subject. I hope, while he is here, he will teach me -- and any other who would learn -- that very effective way of using a spear that was to such good effect against the yrch. Also if there is aught I should know to say or avoid when I write to Prince Maedhros. I shall ask him in the morning.</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>Glass and Honey and Dwarves</strong>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>We have a glassmaker! Soon we shall have glass in the windows, rather than mica and horn and waxed parchment. As well as a number of other things that will make people happy. I am quite looking forward to hearing rain on windowpanes again. Even snow on windowpanes. And glass is much better at keeping out draughts.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Sing, o stones, of standing tall<br/>
In winter snow, and summer<br/>
Both ward and welcome fastness<br/>
Gainst rain and wind and every storm</p>
</div><p>Along with the glassmaker, we are hosting a company of Dwarves, Khazad, as they call themselves. I know the common name is Naugrim, but I like it not. They may be short of stature, but they are certainly not stunted. Morgoth's abominations are stunted.</p><p>For Dwarves, the mountains themselves are their keeps, their fastnesses.  From what I can tell, their thought is: Why build on the outside when there is all that inside to work with? They are mining out the minerals, working with the stone and the water and the other resources anyway, making the entrance defensible (and decorative ) is sensible, and keeps things conveniently accessible. We were all a little mystified when we first encountered the Dwarves, but were soon captivated by their ingenuity and energy. </p><p>
  <em>Also refreshing was the fact that the Dwarves of Beleriand (Broadbeams, Firebeards and Longbeards in the main) were still very much Aule's children, and as one of His people, they had more time for them than might otherwise have been the case. Could even perceive them more often than not, which made a change. (There were Elves, and even Edain that could 'see' them, but not as many as they would have thought. Nearly all the Dwarves could.)</em>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Stone by stone we build we build<br/>
Digged and quarried, shaped and filled<br/>
Set in place by masons skilled<br/>
Stone by stone we build we build</p>
</div><p>The Dwarves sing as they work, a deep-toned, rhythmic song that moved with a steady, even pace. A different melody and rhythm, but not at all strange. Before long, the Elves join in, singing descant and harmony, shaping words that fit both work and melody. Long into the hours of starlight and moonlight we labor together, and by the rising of the sun, they had the whole first course of the curtain-wall foundation set, the new outer perimeter, the last stone placed as a level beam of light touched it. The great grey stones flashed gold for a moment, and I could sense the rock singing too, a note more felt than heard, binding, balancing, holding fast together, rooted deep in the mountainside, the shelving slope above the pass. All one thing now, a foundation, a sturdy, strong, steady place to build upon.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Stone by stone we are, we are<br/>
Laid in order, cross and bar<br/>
Firm and fast neath peak and star<br/>
Stone by stone we are, we are</p>
</div><p>Also, we shall soon have beeswax candles again. The hives have recovered from the fumes of the last belching forth from the Enemy, and I am assured by one of the Queen's Handmaidens that honey and wax will be plentiful in another cycle or two of the Moon. That too is a relief.</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>Notes on the Coming of Men</strong>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>To the workers of crafts that can be perceived well outside their workshops:</p><p>Please be aware that the residents of Caw Inforn now include Edain. Men require more sleep than Elves, and while not always more sensitive to volume, brightness, attendant atmospheric/chemical effects of various processes involved in tanning, dying, retting, etc., They are much more likely to be adversely affected by such things than Elves. Some things that Elves (and Dwarves, a most hardy people) will ignore with ease and no ill effect, such as fumes of little odor, can be quite damaging to Men, without their being aware of it.</p><p>In light of this, with the Counsel of Masters advisement, most especially that of the Healers, the following Rules are to go into effect as soon as practicable, and the proposed Rules and Guidelines for Crafters are open for discussion, with the firm intent to have the Work of this outpost go forward safely and happily for all.</p><p>Write up:<br/>
--List of rules, including hours by the Sun when quiet should reign, ventilation, what processes must be done away from Men, protective clothing and gear, etc.</p><p>--Proper disposition of all manner of waste, recycling where possible. </p><p>--Assurance that no one is in trouble, no one will be in trouble, with a little care and attention paid.</p><p>Important: Anyone with an actual problem and not just a complaint because you don't want to change what you are doing, come to me &amp; we will discuss it.</p><p>I do want everyone involved to discuss and try things and work together, but in the end it is my responsibility to see to the health, safety, comfort, and ability to work and do their best, of and for everyone.</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>Hope and Vigilance</strong>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>Silminel has set a star in the glass of the topmost room of the tower, and placed a Feanorian lamp behind it, so it gleams on the forecourt and out on the (narrow, defensible) road up to the keep. One could think of it like that great lamp that lit the tower of the Mindon Eldalieva, but that light had never been for defense, for warning, for any purpose other than honor and celebration, at least, it had not been. Who knew what necessities hold in Tirion now, with so many of her people gone? But this light is more than a tool to hinder the forces of the Enemy, by revealing them where they try to creep up on the fortress, it is also made for hope, that those who seek shelter, to help, to stand with, whether Eldar or Edain or Khazad, will see the light and be heartened: that here is a place of fastness, of light, of defense and even of joy.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>The tower star that gives us hope<br/>
That shines through mist and smoke and night<br/>
That gleams by day, in sun or snow<br/>
Our beacon and our banner bright<br/>
The steadfast star that leads us home</p>
  <p>Light that shines to guide us<br/>
Light that beaming gleams<br/>
Light that serves to hide us<br/>
From Shadow's smokes and steams</p>
</div><hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>Ampanotalëamo</strong>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>I have met the Maia of mountain keeps. Or rather, of this mountain keep, Caw Inforn. I did not know there was such a thing until now. I know there are River spirits, though our stream is much too small for one. I pay respect to Sirion whenever I venture down to Barad Eithel, and any other rivers I encounter. I know there are Mountain spirits (though indeed, whether they are of Aule or bent shapes animated by the Enemy -- or some of both I suppose -- I know not). They -- gender is not a concept that makes much sense to them personally, thus the pronoun -- are called Ampanotalëamo, and I shall not even try to render that in Sindarin. </p><p>They consider themself still Aulë's, and mostly live within the stone and structure, but have of late been venturing out in the form of a person with both Eldar and Khazad heritage. It is a remarkably pleasing form, and very striking. The Dwarves could perceive him within the stones, as can several of us Elves (it does explain a few things!) and that apparently gave them the idea to become more manifest.</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>Strange Doings</strong>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>I feel as though I should be writing a report, but to whom would I send it? What use would it be? No one else seems to have seen what I did, or heard or otherwise experienced. Not even 'Taleamo. Was it real? The puncture wounds on my hand and in my calf certainly argue that way (do not worry, I cleaned them very thoroughly, and let Caladis sing over them equally thoroughly. They bled clean, and are closing well), even if the others are insistent that they must have been caused by something perfectly ordinary and explainable. But I saw what I saw, felt what I felt, and my blade did not burn blue. Yes the thing - being - person -- was shaped like a creature of Angband, and was as panicked and desperate in their struggle, but they did not flinch from the stone-song, nor try to bite or cut -- it was as if the needle-claws were things they could not control, not that they were trying to wound.</p><p>I shall record it here, in my miscellany, and if I or anyone else sees it again, then I will decide what to do about it.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>My people fuss over me much too much. I am certain I will be perfectly fine in very short order. I will ease their worries by sitting here in the watch-point under the Star-window, where I can see the entire approach to the pass, and that will allow everyone else to make repairs, clean the mess the yrch and the poor captive rock-slithers made trying to get to the spring, and take care of the pyre. Unfortunately, the rock-slithers were too badly hurt to save, but at least they are free now.<p>The needle-claw person made another appearance. They have been living in the cleft of rock right at the top of the Westward slope, under the watchpoint. They gave the alarm, and fought very valiantly against the squad leader-ahead of the scuttle-horde. They defeated them, but perished themself in the fight. I have made sure they are not to be put on the general pyre, but accorded a proper funeral. I hope Namo will have mercy on all the fëar who are come to him this day. The scuttle-horde do not have spirits, only animation, but too many of the leader-yrch and all the Uruks have fëar, and it pains me to know they once were of us. It seems we can only free them by killing them.</p><p>By great fortune we sustained no other fatalities, and the only significant wound is my own. I am afraid that Caladis is correct and my back and shoulder are not merely bruised, but that the shoulder blade is broken. The leader-behind had a great-weapon I had not seen before, with springs to the side-blades, and the entire assemblage very heavy and knobbly, though fortunately not very sharp. I fell upright against the outer wall and managed to stop him from swinging again. The smiths are looking at the contraption even now. I must send thanks to Prince Fingon for the very fine sword, to also be passed on to the Smith. It certainly served me well today. </p><p>My people (people in trust, as their Captain: I am not their Lord) are very insistent on taking care of me. They seem to think I do not take sufficient care for myself. They think I take too many risks, but I take no more than they do, than the Prince does. Erenielle would say that Fingon the Valiant is not a model to take literally. If a dragon of any size were to appear on our watch, chasing after it would be folly. Let our walls take the brunt of that flame and fume, and employ arrows, javelins, crossbow bolts tipped in steel sung to strength and virtue. I agree with her. But it was not a dragon or a balrog, or even a force of yrch led by an Uruk or one of Gorthaur's sorry ghosts, only a scouting party. It is our duty to stop scouting parties. And I was not reckless, or even caught by surprise. </p><p>Still it is very tiresome to be sitting and not doing.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>An Efficacious Ointment for Bruising</p>
</div><p>Take ground ivy, burdock, hound's tongue and ironhard, dried and ground to powder in a fine stone mortar. Mix and moisten well with oil of sweet bay, then take soft beeswax and make the ointment.</p><p>While preparing, sing of Yavanna's grace and of thanks for the gifts of the herbs. When applying, warm the ointment and smooth on the affected area, while singing a drawing out and calming song. It works best if the one bruised is able to sing as well. {Note: Not a real recipe}</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>Philosophical Musings</strong>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>The Nature of Towers</p><p>Oh towers come and towers go, into and away from sight, traveling by; built up and with foundations delved deep, and then falling stone by stone until only a mound remains where once it stood; into memory and away, in dream fleeing daylight; attacked and defended, inhabited, abandoned, inhabited again: waves of people eddying at the foot, bargaining from the parapets, sapping and mining the roots of the walls. Built in as many shapes and sizes as the stones and timbers will allow, the foundation support. The idea of a tower, a keep, a defensible high place in amongst the high place that is a mountain, that may go anywhere, held in mind, sketched on tablets or paper or cloth. The tower itself is rooted, immovable, fixed in form as it is built, made part of the mountain as the mountain is part of the tower. And alive, inhabited, living at the slow pace of stone, of moss, of dripping water from the secret spring and  the quicker rush of feet, hooves, wings, words, song, wind, thought.</p><p>Is the idea of a tower a tower? Is the ring of sunken stones that once upheld great curtain-tower walls a tower still? </p><p>Oh yes. Oh yes.</p><p>Even toppled, drowned, made waste, the mountain keeps are mine, thus Barad Eithel, Gondolin, the fast-held towers in Dorthomion, the Ered Wethrin, in Mithrim. Undrowned Himring, Rerir, unnamed fortresses in Ered Luin. South and East, were mine as well, no construct of the Noldor, those, though some were Noldor-taught, in later times, further places. (Maglor was not only a musician, nor were any of the Princes skilled at but one Craft. And all could smith, scribe, speak more or less to stone and metal.) Amon Ereb, Amon Sul, Minas Tirith, Anor, Ithil. Even those built bright then turned to evil use.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>Myth, History, or Prophecy?<p>And in another shade of Arda, after ages have passed like the leaves of trees long dust and ash, where the Sun burns red like a coal, the moon is a blackened, misshapen husk, and the seas no longer cover long-drowned Beleriand, the memories of fortresses hold back the seething darkness, the shattering light of unfettered, unfiltered, furious transformation, of Melkor returned. </p><p>How long can they hold? </p><p>But in this final hour, no soul stands divided: lover with beloved, wife and wife, friend and friend, siblings, sons and daughters, every possible configuration of family, of kinship, of concord. Eldar and Edain, Ent and Khuzd, Maia and mortal and stranger things still.  They stand in the memory of mountains, on stone that has slept long, but has not forgotten those that Spoke, nor have they forgotten the scoring claws and poisonous flame of the fallen minions of the Enemy.</p><p>Together stand. Together hope. Together prevail. And then shall build anew.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>
      <strong>Personal Relationships</strong>
    </em>
  </p>
</div><em>
  <br/>
</em><p>
  <em>Ampanotalëamo did not spy. But no one thought of the stones and timbers watching, even when they were aware of them singing, warding, upholding. Not even, usually, Hestcaun. They had seen enough of persons engaged in intimacies to know that sort of interaction/alignment did not really apply to them, and at the same time to appreciate ingenuity and effort, as well as the beauty inherent in pleasure and care. The affection and love they did share an understanding of, though that particular manifestation remained a personal mystery.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Still, it was to the Valiant Captain of the keep that they were drawn, and the connection was mutual, growing, building, stone on stone, stronger and closer and intimate of heart, as the seasons and years passed.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong>Creeping Flames</strong>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>I have sent the Stone with the young ones, with the day-book - including what I expect to be a final report, and Durolas’s notebooks on the olvar and kelvar of these mountains and high meadows. The changes over the last half yen are disheartening — the Enemy’s poison has had slow, insidious, and terrible effect. </p><p>I tried sending more of the garrison, but too many of them would not leave. The ones for whom this was a post, rather than a home, including most of the Men, agreed to retreat over the mountain paths, taking word of how the tower fares, should the worst overtake us, as I most surely fear it will. Those who help build this keep, who have been here with me from the early years will not go. They are determined to stand with me to the end.</p><p>(And how can I leave, when these stones hold my heart? I do not know if 'Taleamo can separate themself from this tower, or what would happen if they did.) I will keep this book with me, but truly I know not what this day will bring, only that it will be something, and that dreadful.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Oh is there a fortress for guarding the heart?<br/>
What mountain range holds it<br/>
From what spring comes its well<br/>
What arms fill the armory<br/>
What plate and what mail<br/>
And who or what wears them<br/>
Wields the bright swords<br/>
Of truth and of laughter<br/>
Of valor steadfast<br/>
That living and loving and making might last</p>
</div>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>Surely, the Enemy cannot have overlooked us. That makes no sense at all. Yet, among the rivers and torrents and wind-twists of fire, our tower stood tall. Not unscathed, and we are quite cut off from the rest of Ard-Galen that was and Hithlum. The ground is much too hot to try traveling over, and I fear much of it is unstable as well. If this was a single assault, then we are still well placed to serve. If there are more to come, then I fear we too will fall.<p>A very good way of making a poultice for burns, that Men may employ as well as Elves (though fortunately we have but two among us still):</p><p>This is more efficacious when virtue is sung into the tools and ingredients, while one is  preparing the unguent and most especially while applying the poultice. If the wounded person is able, they should sing (or hum, or have the words and music present in their mind, as that will let the thing work more thoroughly and quickly. But even if circumstances are such that the element of Song must perforce be silent, the healer should have it in mind at the minimum.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Cool the fire, soothe the burn<br/>
To the work of bees now turn<br/>
Cool the fire, soothe the burn<br/>
Herb and flower, water, churn<br/>
Cool the fire, soothe the burn<br/>
Draw the heat and whole return</p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p>
  </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>
      <strong>Beleriand Drowned</strong>
    </em>
  </p>
</div><em>
  <br/>
</em><p>
  <em>Stone does not die, under the water, even deep beneath the wave, but the life it has, the structure, changes. Or, under ordinary ocean, under the pull of the round world's gravity and the weight of water, the movement of currents and tides. But the world was not round when Beleriand fell, and the nature of that Sea is not quite the same. There is more of preservation, of memory, of knowledge of what was within that water, even as it changes moment by moment, wave by wave. Drowned Beleriand still holds the shapes of Song that upraised towers, that delved deep caverns, that made walls and gardens and fountains and fields of flax and wildflowers. Those stones were not unmade.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Thangorodrim was unmade. The Ered Engrin was thrown down and the North of the world reshaped, and reshaped again when it became a round world and a flat. Much of that material was taken back to it's constituent elements, and formed again new, singing new notes. The screams of the dungeons of Gorthaur and Morgoth are no longer reverberating in the tormented metal, rock, air and water, they sound only in memory, and even that is eased by time and new songs.) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>As flame did not overset the northern tower keep, so water will not dissolve it. It waits. And sometimes the star in the tower shines yet under the wave.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>
      <strong>Healing</strong>
    </em>
  </p>
</div><em>
  <br/>
</em><p>
  <em>Self. Stone. Stone-self. Again-self. Warmth on one side, warmth and ... air? Air. A mix of things, tumbling, laughing, flowing, blowing — the Breath of the Elder King, made anew — stone-self flinched, discovered lungs, within-ness, without-ness, particles sparkling in rivers within, no impediment, no poisonous fume, no inimical, suffocating surprise. No condemnation, either, just ... Air.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Melkor had been wrong. There was life after immolation. One could come through the black fire to new being, new hope.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>
      <strong>Beleriand Risen</strong>
    </em>
  </p>
</div><em>
  <br/>
</em><p>
  <em>In Beleriand Risen, the strongholds rise, the towers and keeps, the fortresses and fastnesses. Rerir and Himring, Amon Ereb and Gondolin and Barad Eithel and all the rest named and nameless, and known by many and by few. They stand each as their best selves, the past not erased, not forgotten, but their spirits renewed, clothed again in stone and wood, glass and iron. Light shone forth from watchtower and hall, in the colors of moon and sun, star and tree and lamp. And with each renewed, returned, remembered fastness, Ampanotaleamo felt more whole, more themself, more returned and real. As the Type had held the sense of all of them in a kind of memory-matrix, the buildings and the ideas of the buildings had held a thread, a thought, a note of the Architect as well.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The northernmost mountain keep has arisen as well, called forth out of memory by those for whom it was a home, not a posting. People live there, some of whom are most eager to see what might grow or live or otherwise inhabit that range of new uplands that were once the stronghold of the Enemy, the tower's charge to watch, and now -- for that evil was not brought back, nor any stone or spike or least-most cog remembered but to consign the further to oblivion -- are a new thing to discover in the north of the world. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And the Valiant Captain of the tower has brought a fine new book to write in, where he stands with his friend.</em>
</p><p>I write in my new book, beside my old and beloved friend, on the parapet of Inforn Tir, risen, remembered, renewed. The stones sing beneath my feet, the air is clean and bright, light shimmers in the northern sky, and the hills around us hum with life. The flax is blooming blue, the bees are rebuilding their hives, and Fingon is in Hithlum, with his friend. I could ask no better.
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Names -- a mix of Quenya and Sindarin (and even some Noldorin). I mostly used <a href="https://www.elfdict.com/">Parf Edhellen</a> as a source, but some of them are just made up.</p><p>Hestocánë (Quenya) or Hestcaun (Sindarin) : 'Valorous Captain' -- Captain of the watchtower/mountain keep<br/>Inforn Dîn : High North Pass -- where the keep is located, approximately at the point where the Ered Wethrin turns West to parallel the Ered Engrin.<br/>Inforn Tir (Q) or Caw Inforn (S) : High North Tower/Fortress<br/>Caladis : Bright/Shining woman -- Healer and one of Hestocánë's lieutenants/advisors<br/>Durolas : Leaf of wood -- Person in charge of animal husbandry for the keep, shepherd. Very interested in the local flora and fauna<br/>Erenielle : Iron Bee -- Archivist, teacher, advisor<br/>Laurelisse: Golden Sweet(ness) -- Surveyer, explorer, a speaker-to-trees<br/>Legoel : Green Star -- Watch commander<br/>Lorinen : Golden water -- an Elf with children<br/>Silminel : Crystal brook -- Glassworker<br/>Ampanotalëamo : architect/tower-builder maia</p></blockquote></div></div>
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